Deep Trouble previously As Yet Untitled
by katherineaw
Summary: *Now fully edited* Steph left Trenton 8 years ago and set up a new life.  When she finds something to tie her life back in with those she left behind, it is time to call in old friends.
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_A/N – Re-edited for grammar and continuity._

A well known rule of thumb in the diving industry is that where there are fish, there's something to see. Tropical divers take that as is, but hardened New Jersey Wreck Divers know the _real_ truth. Such people know that where there are fish, there is usually something more; something that attracts them to the site and _that_ is what _they_ want to see.

About half of the time, a 'fish' site will turn out to be absolutely nothing, maybe a pile of rocks that provide good hiding places. Half of the rest of the time, it's a rubbish dumping ground and the remainder of the time it's a crappy little rock or small dinghy or some other, totally irrelevant setting. And about once in a blue moon, it's a shipwreck, or something really cool. It's that small number of times that I live for. Two such people are a brother and sister pair, who live in Brielle, NJ and run a small dive operation that caters for the extreme divers who like to dive deep into the ocean to explore known wrecks and caves. But the pair of them, however, were also part of a small elite diving team who explore uncharted waters, investigate the unknown and push the boundaries of the deep.

This story is about the sister. Her name, by the way, is Stephanie Michelle Geary. She has lived in Brielle, NJ for about five years. It's a beautiful town by the sea, a hub for some of the more specialized water-related fields. Her public safety diving team is based there and is about the only team within about a five hundred mile radius. Possibly why they're the best in the area.

So, what's a Public Safety Diver when they're at home anyway? Well basically they're highly trained (SCUBA) divers who perform various tasks in the water. So, for example, the police force might use them to locate bodies in the river; or to pull clues and evidence off crime scenes that have been submerged. I met a team from Mexico who worked in the sewers; cleaning and clearing them of any debris. Thankfully Steph's team hadn't been called in for that; _yet_. PS divers are often called in to help with the clean up after hurricanes and tsunamis, or any sort of flooding. They often fulfill the role of search and rescue when it involves being underwater.

In summary; if it's underwater… Public Safety divers probably do it.

Today was one of those perfect days when a long shot works out. Stephanie and her brother, Jamie, had sweet-talked the GPS numbers from a local fisherman to a site; where they were aware that the nets had gotten caught on something just a week ago and this morning the siblings and another pair of divers had ventured out to the site to check it out.

Stephanie splashed first; she was the most experienced deep diver on their team at the moment; Jamie had recently found a passion for cave diving and had therefore backed away from the deep ocean diving, and both Lisa and Trey had vaguely normal jobs which meant they weren't able to dive as frequently. The first diver's job was to 'tie in' the boat to whatever was at the bottom, or, if there was nothing, to send a message back to the boat while she decompressed so that nobody else wasted time gearing up.

She hit the water heavily; two large tanks on her back and four slung across her shoulders making her quite negatively buoyant. With a quick salute to the team, she slowly let out all the air in her lungs and dropped below the surface.

The first few minutes are always the best; where you can revisit the calm and serenity of the ocean after the hustle and panic of gearing up and entering the water.

Meter by meter she dropped deeper in to the dark, murky waters. Even with a mixed gas with less nitrogen, she began to hear the drums of narcosis pound in the back of her head, but she methodically pressed on, checking gauges, mentally running through her safety tools, her eyes constantly scanning for the prize.

50m – Nothing in sight and the sunlight had long since disappeared from behind her.

she hadn't hit the bottom, their depth sounder had said there was something in the range of 60-65m, and she'd given herself a depth limit of 70m in order to ensure she had plenty of air to complete the dive safely and that she didn't suffer from oxygen toxicity or nitrogen narcosis. She kept going.

55m – still nothing; unless you counted the flash of a shark she thought she'd spotted in the distance. Probably it was nothing to worry about.

60m – a dark shape was apparent, but at that depth she knew that the mind had a tendency to play tricks on you, making shapes appear so you think you've seen the bottom, when all you've actually seen is water.

At 65m she could make out the shape of a yacht; a nice yacht. Definitely luxury. She dropped onto the deck to have a look. It had clearly been underwater for a couple of years; between seven and ten she was guessing by the erosion. She swam around it, looking for some identifying feature. Nothing. She glanced at her watch and shrugged she still had a few minutes, so she opened the door to the wheelhouse and finned her way inside. She was careful to kick gently so as not to disturb any silt or anything else. She looked around and marveled at how surreal it was to look out at the ocean from inside a shipwreck, at the bottom.

My dive computer beeped at me to alert me it was almost time to return to the surface, so she turned around to leave. A flash of light caught her attention from one corner as she did so, however, and she turned back around, shining the high beam of her torch in the direction. Nothing appeared until she moved the light back and forth a bit, and then she saw it. A silver glimmer.

Honestly, after at least half a decade underwater, she was surprised that anything would still be shining. Normally rust would have solved that problem. My natural curiosity forced me to investigate. She reached out, her gloved hands strong, grasping it and pulling it towards me. It came straight to me, light and obedient. She held it under her torch for a quick moment; it was a necklace of some description. My dive computer beeping furiously, she shoved it into her pocket and set off. She would wash it off when she was back on the surface and then we'd know what it was. she turned and fled the wheelhouse, finning slowly up the anchor line to about 35m; where she stopped for about two minutes, just relaxing and breathing slowly. There was a lot going on when diving and the two minutes at the deep-stop allowed her to not only add an element of safety to her dive, but also to just reorganize and reorient herself before she began the decompression.

After twenty minutes at 70m, she needed to do about forty minutes of decompression, which she did with plastic laminated reading materials and – for her last stop, at 5m – a waterproofed iPod. As each of the three other divers from their boat passed her, she waved to them and handed them her slate showing them the type of wreck and its depth and some other pertinent details. A luxury yacht wasn't _particularly_ interesting to us; but it was better than some of the rubbish dumps that we'd dived on in the past and we'd probably put this site down to explore at a later date. Maybe they'd find something worth salvaging, as the first divers we legally had the initial salvage rights; occasionally this was very profitable.

An hour or so after she had stepped off the boat and into the water, she passed the last of her tanks up and hauled herself out of the water. With practiced motions she doffed her gear strapped her tanks out of the way and so they wouldn't be blown around in the wind, and gave her equipment a quick check before folding it down and packing it away. As she put away her catch bag – we occasionally caught crayfish, and she'd been hoping for dinner – a silver glint caught her eye once again and she remembered the necklace and grasped it and put it in a bucket of fresh water, giving it a bit of a soak.

After she had dried her hair, changed out of her drysuit and into some clean, warm clothes, she went back to the bucket to have a look at her find. Some grime and silt had fallen off it since she'd dropped it in there and what was apparently a single pendant, had become two. She gently rubbed it with her fingers and immediately the rest of the grime peeled away in a single motion.

The 'pendant' was actually a pair of dog tags; military issue by the look of them. They were stainless steel, so they hadn't rusted much despite having been underwater for apparent five or more years. She was easily able to read the name on the tags.

_Ricardo C. Manoso_


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Tank was mentally yawning; this was about the tenth 'progress meeting' that Ranger had called with the team to discuss the security job. Apparently the woman who signed the checks didn't feel like she was getting enough face time with the company who kept her vacation home secure. Honestly, he thought it was all going a little bit far, but Ranger was a thorough kind of man and if the woman didn't feel satisfied, then he was going to fix it.

"So if that's all, ma'am," Ranger said with a polite, but tight, smile at the woman sitting at the end of the table, "One of my men will escort you out."

"Thank you, Mr. Manoso," she said agreeably, "that would be acceptable." She rose, flicking her perfectly coiffed hair off her shoulders with a perfectly manicured hand.

Hal entered the room, "Ma'am," he said, offering his arm. She took it gracefully and departed.

There was a universal sigh of relief the moment the door shut.

"I goddamn hope this job is worth all the effort!" Lester grumbled, "the amount of time I spend with that woman is directly proportionate to the amount I hate her."

"Fuckin' A, man!" Bobby groaned, "You'd think it was a mansion the way she carries on! It's a fucking _shack_ on the _beach_!"

"She's a client," Ranger said, only very mild reproof in his words, "a good client. We do what she wants."

"Even for you she's taking it a little far!" Bobby pointed out.

"She is a bit over the top, isn't she," Ranger agreed.

Tank's phone went off at that point. He turned away from the table, "Tank." He said gruffly.

"Oh thank god!" a relieved female voice said, "Tank, its Stephanie!"

"Say what?" he asked a little shock evident.

"Stephanie Plum!" she replied, her voice curt with just the smallest amount of bite in it. "Exploding cars, all that stuff – surely you haven't-"

"No- _BOMBER_?" he breathed, spinning back around to the table to where the rest of the team was suddenly watching him tensely, "where the hell you been, Little Girl?"

"Hey Tank!" she was amused, "how's things?"

"Good, man, good!" he was still a bit stunned, "you looking for me?"

"Well, sort of," she said, something in her tone giving him a bad feeling, "I need to speak to Ranger. Is he there?"

"Yeah, bomber," he said, a little concerned at the urgency in her voice, "hold on, I'll put you on open mike."

"You're all okay, though?" she said, sounding relieved at the thought.

"We're good," he confirmed, wondering what was going on.

"That's good. Hey, is he wearing his dog tags?"

Tank frowned and spun around to look at his boss. The man was wearing his usual black outfit – cargoes and a black, painted on t-shirt, his hair braided behind his head, his diamond earrings twinkling in the light, his expression intrigued. As far as Tank could tell, though, he wasn't wearing his dog tags. "Not that I can see, Steph. Let me put you on speaker. You can ask him yourself."

"Sure," she said agreeably.

He covered the mouthpiece with his hand, "It's the bombshell," he explained.

"Babe," Ranger spoke the moment the phone signaled that all the buttons were connected, his deep baritone just a little bit interested.

"Ranger," she sounded a little surprised to be talking to him.

There was silence and then he prodded her, "you had a question for me?"

"Oh, right," you could almost hear the blush, "Yeah, is there a reason I would have dog tags in front of me which say _Ricardo C. Manoso_?"

Ranger felt the blood drain out of his face as his jaw dropped.

"Ranger?" Steph sounded worried, "Ric, what is it?"

"My brother had those," Ranger explained when he had eventually caught his breath and recovered himself. He knew his team was watching him nervously; the last time his brother had been a topic for discussion, he'd exploded and sent three men to hospital and caused an entire floor to require renovations, "he disappeared eight years ago. You found them?"

"I guess so," she said, a shrug audible, "If he was wearing your tags. Do you want me to post them to Haywood?"

"No!" he barked, suddenly snapping back into control, "where are you? We'll come to you."

Steph hesitated, just for a moment. Tank found himself surprised at the hesitation; she'd never been a fiercely private person. Of course, they hadn't seen her in a long, long time. She'd up and left years ago, told everyone she wanted to get away. Nobody had been all that surprised, she had been unhappy for a while. In fact, nobody had looked too hard, as far as Tank could remember. It had been a difficult time for everyone, for different reasons.

"I'll find you anyway," Ranger observed coolly, his eyebrow rising at her hesitation.

Tank winced, you could almost hear her temper, and the bombshell didn't like to be threatened. But, he was surprised by the weary acceptance in her voice when she answered.

"I'm in Brielle," She said, exhaustion apparent, "Call me when you get here, I'll meet you somewhere." She rattled off a number, which Tank wrote down quickly.

"Babe-" Ranger's voice was bland, but the team could see his expression was pained.

"No, Ranger." Her voice was biting, hiding any emotion – whether it was anger or hurt – beneath it, "I've had a really busy couple of days and this is the best you're going to get from me right now."

"One hour," he said finally, disconnecting.

"I take it we're moving out, boss?" Tank observed his eyes on the phone. None of them knew anything much about Ranger's brother, except that he had disappeared about eight years ago – after the Scrog fiasco, and just prior to Steph gracefully stepping out of Trenton and their lives.

"Tank, you and Lester leave now. Bobby, pick up the files from Mateo's disappearance, you're with me."

The three men didn't even acknowledge the command, already halfway out the door.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Lester called Steph as they reached the outskirts of Brielle.

"NJD, Stephanie speaking!" she answered.

"Steph, its Lester. Tank and I are just coming into Brielle now, where do you want us to meet you?"

"Just the two of you?" she asked bitterly, but not giving them a moment to respond "meet me at Billy Mac's," she said, "it's near the wharf; you can't miss it. I'll be twenty minutes."

"Where are you? We can give you a lift." Lester offered.

"I'll meet you at Billy's," Steph said neutrally.

"Steph-" he tried to say something.

"Whatever." She said, a yawn breaking through her voice. She disconnected.

Lester glanced at Tank as he drove, "Bombshell's not that keen on seeing us." He observed.

"Sounds tired," Tank gave a partial protest; he had watched her wilt and fade in the weeks before she left Trenton – weeks when Ranger hadn't been around because he'd been in Miami looking after his family and searching for his brother. He wasn't entirely convinced, despite the impressive act she'd put on, that Steph had left of her own volition.

"I wonder why." Lester said, "Why did she leave, anyway?"

Tank shrugged – he'd never been much for talking.

"Well," Lester said, still musing, "she and the Boss had that thing going on; so why'd she leave again?"

Tank lifted his shoulders.

"Lula know anything about it?"

"Steph stayed in touch for a while," Tank offered, "but basically cut off all contact with Trenton a few months after she left."

"Did Ranger check it all out?" Lester asked, "I don't remember nothing about her leaving coming through the system, but it _was_ ages ago."

"No. He didn't."

"That's strange."

"Julie was getting pretty regular threats then," Tank reminded him, "and Mateo disappeared a month or so before she left."

Lester suddenly wore a look of dawning comprehension, "it was about the time that he was obsessed with his family's security, wasn't it? We had everyone available staking out everyone's houses until some threat just disappeared. Fuck. And she just disappeared with only a note, as well, didn't she?"

"Yes."

"Did we ever trace her?" Lester asked curiously, "I mean she was sort of dating the boss at the time."

"Not officially." Tank said in answer to both comments.

"But you did anyway, right?"

Tank nodded in the affirmative.

"Where did she go?"

"West coast, and up to Canada for a while; then she disappeared completely."

"She had any hits since?"

"Woman in D.C. used her credit card, but it turned out to be someone else; and she'd stolen Steph's wallet."

"Huh." Lester shook his head, "how bizarre."

"There's the wharf," Tank pointed to the left and Lester turned, pulling into a park in front of what looked like a pub. They climbed out and headed over to the dank, rotting building, pushing open the door and grabbing a booth down the back.

"She's not here yet." Lester observed.

"We're early."

They waited about ten minutes, before the door swung open again and a slender woman of about thirty five stepped through the door, clad in skinny, dark denim jeans and a white singlet top with a black air force leather jacket. Her chestnut brown hair hung loose around her face, wavy and elegant it reached the curve of her breasts. She scanned the room, nodding and flashing a grin to a couple of men around the room, before her eyes alighted on Tank and Lester. They widened slightly, before she continued her scan. She finally walked across to a man at the bar and they exchanged whispered words, occasionally motioning towards the table that the RangeMen were at.

She eventually slipped into the seat opposite Tank and Lester. "Tank, Lester." She nodded to them.

"Bomber?" Lester expressed their surprise at her new look, and attitude.

"It's Stephanie," She corrected coolly, but without hostility. "Welcome to Brielle."

"Steph, then," Lester said smoothly, proving why he had always been known as the ladies' man, "you're looking good." He glanced at her hand, no ring but he didn't comment, "The last eight years have treated you well, obviously?"

She nodded, "yes." She agreed. "You look like you're doing alright, as always." She said, "I hope you're treating Lula right, Tank," She said, flashing a genuine grin at the big man.

"Yes ma'am." He smiled a bright smile, "I sure am, ma'am."

"You can drop the ma'am," She said, "I'm fairly sure that all things considered, you're allowed a level of familiarity."

He grinned; it was going to be fun working with the bombshell again.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Ranger and Bobby arrived about ten minutes after Steph did. They were immediately accosted by the man she had spoken to earlier. He brusquely pointed them in the direction of the others.

There was a quick game of musical chairs as the guys shuffled around to give Ranger a seat with his back to the wall. Stephanie refused to move from her seat, despite the interesting and occasionally disapproving looks from the guys.

After they'd all sat down, the same man from the bar came back over, "Sweetheart," he said to Steph, "Y'all ready to order?"

"Hey Billy!" she nodded, flashing him her first genuine smile of the night, and an affectionate look, "I'll have the usual. You'd best give the guys the menu."

"We got fish, steak, or parma." He said bluntly, "All with fries. Monday, Wednesday and Friday you can switch the fries for a salad."

Steph glanced at Ranger amusedly, he didn't eat food like this, but he also wasn't paying much attention, "Fish," he said absently, "and Dos Equis."

"Steak, the same."

"Two."

"Three."

Billy nodded curtly to the orders, before turning back to Steph, "I forgot to mention earlier, honey; Matt from the coastguard was looking for you."

Steph raised an eyebrow, and all the men at the table blinked; she hadn't been able to do that in the past, "what for, do you know?" she asked neutrally.

The man shrugged, his wizened face a little sad, "the usual, I suppose." He said, "It's the season again. The _Doria_ took another two this morning." He paused and crossed himself, and Tank thought the motion was a little out of place on a man like that in a venue like this, but at Steph's sharp intake of breath he wondered what was going on. The man continued, "He wants to run a recovery tomorrow I think."

"Two already?" Steph's voice was low with horror, "I'll call him. Who was it?"

"Two youngsters," Billy looked awkward, possibly from being the bearer of bad news, but more likely from the menacing look that Ranger was sending his way, "brothers, I heard." His voice turned conspiratorial, "Rumor says they were trying to get into third class to haul shit."

Steph whistled soundlessly, "not smart."

Billy shrugged, "that's the rumor," he said, "not sure about it. Heard you found a new wreck this mornin'?"

"Yeah," she smiled weakly, "nothing spectacular; a luxury yacht. We'll probably work it over on a rainy day; it's in quite a sheltered bay."

"Don't forget to call the coastguard!" he said as he accepted her words.

"What are you, my secretary?" she laughed, cheering up a bit, "I will."

The man leaned over and kissed her cheek and walked off with a "you be careful out there, sweetheart."

She turned back to the boys, slipping a zip lock bag out of her pocket and passing it to Ranger, "I have to make this call," she apologized, "I'll be back in a few."

Tank nodded to her when it became apparent that Ranger's attention was wholly on the tags in front of him.

Twenty minutes later, Steph came back very pale to see the boys chowing down on their steaks and fish. She slipped into her seat beside Bobby and toyed with her own meal, a light warm lamb salad that the chef made especially for her on a Sunday night.

"Everything okay, Steph?" Lester asked, looking up at her, and noting the pale face and lack of appetite.

She shook her head, "not really." She said, looking and sounding stunned, the words flowing out before she could stop them, "those two men who died were my students."

"What happened?" Lester asked his eyes narrowed in something akin to concern.

By now the other three men were watching closely as she toyed with her food. Hands mechanically passed food from the plates to their mouths, but their eyes didn't leave her, all of them recognizing the clear signs of distress that she was radiating.

"They were on an expedition to dive the _Andrea Doria_," she said, "in 240 feet of water. It's one of the most difficult wreck dives in the world," she explained when they all gave her clueless looks. "I only finished their course a few months ago, they must tried to do too much too soon, I guess," shrugging she paused in thought.

"How?" Ranger's voice was curt.

"It could've been anything," Steph admitted, "I'm going to head out tomorrow morning with the coastguard to recover the bodies. We should know more after the autopsy and depending on what I find."

There was a silence as the boys mulled this over.

Tank broke it eventually, asking the question they were all undoubtedly thinking, "Why you?" he asked, carefully keeping his expression and tone neutral.

Steph shrugged, but essentially ignored the question. Finally she gave up pushing her food around her plate and put her fork down. She turned to Ranger, "Those dog tags were in the wheelhouse of a luxury yacht that was resting at about 210 feet of water. As far as we could tell it had been underwater for about five years or so."

"What can you tell me about the yacht?" Ranger prompted, switching immediately into business mode.

She shrugged, "nothing with great certainty, I wasn't taking notes. It's maybe a hundred foot. Definitely luxury, though. It's sitting almost perfectly upright. If you want to know anything more, I can round up my team and we'll head out next weekend to get whatever information you want, but-"

"Don't worry about it," Ranger interrupted.

She raised an eyebrow a blank face slipping seamlessly to cover her emotions, something that surprised the four men, "if you're sure," she said neutrally.

"I'll get a team out to do it." He explained, suddenly feeling a bit bad for having cut her off.

Steph nodded, meanwhile wondering whether he realized that the only team within about five hundred miles of here was her own. She decided to be helpful, "I'll put together the LoRanCe and GPRS numbers for you. And a preliminary map of the dive site," she offered, "we only checked out the wheelhouse and the first cabin, but I'm sure that'll be enough to get you started." She paused, and then hesitantly made her offer again, "Ric, my team is local and I'm familiar with the site, if you need divers we'd be happy to help."

He nodded, and the group fell back into silence.

"What is it you do these days, anyway?" Lester obviously deemed the silence sufficient encouragement to return to his earlier interrogation.

Steph frowned, "A few different things," she said, "I run a local diving shop, and I'm part of a Public Safety Diving team," She said, finally pushing her plate away, unable to eat. She watched, wondering whether they would know what that meant.

They did. All the boys nodded, having come across such teams in the past given their various operations, "how'd you get into that?" Lester pressed.

"My brother," she said, "well, half-brother." She amended, "he was a really avid diver and he trained me so that I could be his buddy. We sort of fell into the job;" she admitted self-deprecatingly, "there was nobody in the area when the police had to do an emergency search of a dive site and so we were contracted to help and it turned out we were good at it, so we did the extra training and registered the team. Now we tend to do whatever comes up, but mostly we just run a dive shop and teach."

"Didn't know you had a brother, babe." Ranger was keeping his tone even, but it was apparent that this was a strain on him, "would explain how you disappeared when you left Trenton."

Her lips twitched, "I was wondering if you'd been able to trace me."

"How'd you do it?" his voice was cold; apparently unimpressed.

"Took my brother's surname," She shrugged, "ditched my social security, a few things like that."

"Good work," Tank praised, impressed at how such simple measures had foiled their huge resources.

"_Why_?" Ranger asked, interrupting her as she was about to respond to Tank. His voice harsh.

Steph froze, her shoulders stiff, "why what?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. That was a question she didn't want to answer.

Nobody said anything, and Ranger didn't elaborate on his question. The tension gradually ebbed from the table.

Until Lester spoke up. "So, what about your love life, Bomber?" he asked, "Got a man in your life?"


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"Yes, she certainly does." A good looking man of about their age slipped into the booth beside Steph.

"Jamie!" she scowled, "what are you doing here?" she asked as he kissed her cheek, "you're supposed to be with _Rosie_ this weekend!" She grimaced a little at the woman's name.

All the men at the table tuned in to the byplay between the pair.

"Can't I check up on my best girl?" he asked innocently.

"Not when you're supposed to be with your fiancée!" she scowled, sneering at the word.

"Even when she's going out solo tomorrow?" he feigned a wounded tone.

Steph wrinkled her nose, "where is Rosie anyway?"

"At home," he waved his hands dismissively, fixing his piercing eyes on Steph, "why did you agree to help Matt?"

"He seems to be organizing it well;" she shrugged, "they're keeping the politics out of it; and the fact is they're right; apart from Chatterton [1], I'm probably the only person with a halfway decent chance of getting in and out with the bodies and my life."

"Do you want me to round up the team?" He offered, putting an arm around her shoulder. Given the apparent frostiness of the earlier interplay, everyone except perhaps 'Jamie' was surprised when she burrowed into his arms and leaned her head against his shoulder.

She chewed her lip for a few moments, but finally shook her head, "I don't think so. Matt said he'd organized backup for me already. He won't fuck this up easily, it's a good gig. You can come if you want, though."

"Is the _Seeker_ letting you use the wrench?" he asked, apparently switching tack altogether.

Years back, the _MV Seeker_ had taken a boat load of divers to the _Doria_ and John Chatterton – a legendary diver in the area – had penetrated as far as the third class kitchen, and had hauled out small amounts of china. The _MV Wahoo_ had planned the first expedition of the following season to weld a hole into the side of the wreck and empty it of the remaining masses and masses of china. In retaliation, the _MV Seeker_ had pre-empted them by a weekend and had welded a doorway into the cabin from outside the wreck, and installed a custom lock that could only be opened by a custom wrench. They hadn't prevented anyone repeating the dangerous penetration through the inside of the ship to the china stash, but only the _Seeker's_divers and Chatterton, were able to access it easily from the outside. Apart from their desecration of a shipwreck, it spoke volumes for the bitterness and competition that existed between the two boats and their captains; a bitterness which had existed since time immemorial.

"No, they won't let us use it," Steph shook her head a frown appearing on her face, and her forehead furrowing in frustration.

Jamie shook his head, "_fucking_ Nagle – even dead he still gives me the shits!" Bill Nagle was the captain of the _MV Seeker_, although now it was owned and captained by Dan Crowell. The rivalry between the _Seeker_and the _Wahoo_ had lasted past his death and would probably last past the death of the _Wahoo's_captain, Steve Bielenda since their respective protégé's; Crowell and Janet Bieser, held equal loathing for each other.

"Relax, Jamie; I'm not going to kill myself for dead men." Steph tried to sound reassuring.

He nodded, hugging her to him, "so, are you going to introduce me to your new friends?"

"Oh, right, Jamie, this is Ranger, Tank, Bobby and Lester," she pointed to each of them, the four of them having been attentively watching the interplay between the Bombshell and this mysterious man. "Guys, this is my brother, Jamie Geary!"

"Hey man," Tank said, "long time."

Jamie's eyes lit up, "T man? What the fuck? Fucking awesome!"

"You two know each other?" Steph seemed surprised.

"We were in the Navy together," Jamie explained, "Tank here was responsible for most of the nasty ass scrapes we got into."

Steph rolled her eyes, "right." Probably it was the other way around; Jamie was rather disorganized and unprepared; it wouldn't surprise her if it was Tank who was always getting them _out_ of scrapes.

About an hour of listening to the guys share stories, Steph checked my watch, "Sorry guys, gotta dash. If I'm going to hit the Doria in the morning-"

"Mind if we come?" Tank interrupted, fixing her with a gaze that eight years ago would have made her quake in her heels.

Steph wore wearing boots now, and refused to give in to whatever emotion the expression now incited. Instead she looked between all the RangeMen and frowned, "can you dive?" she asked finally.

"We can," he said, "but it wouldn't be to dive. I'd just like to see what you do."

"It's pretty dull on the surface," Steph warned, "but yeah, I don't see why not," she shrugged. "I guess so; but it's up to the coastguard though; it's their boat." She didn't offer any more than that, standing up and getting ready to leave.

"Where do we meet you in the morning?" He prodded.

"0400 at the Coastguard's loading dock," She told him, "pack for an overnight trip if you're coming."

"Two days, babe?" Ranger raised an eyebrow.

"It takes about six hours to get out there," She explained with a shrug, "and there are good odds that we won't be able to locate and recover the bodies in a single dive. If we can't get the bodies out tomorrow we'll try again in the morning. Maybe a third time in the afternoon," She rolled her shoulders defensively, "they're already dead. I'm not going to follow them just by rushing." Her blank face descended again, remembering her dead students.

"Good attitude," Bobby nodded approvingly. He was definitely one for quiet assessment.

"So, are you coming or not?" It was clear that Steph was feeling defensive, and was starting to cop an attitude as a way of dealing.

"Boss?" Tank looked to Ranger, "we going?"

Ranger looked between his best friend and a woman he hadn't seen in eight years, "It's your weekend, and Lester's," he said with an almost invisible sigh, "it's up to you. If you want to."

"Right boss," Tank nodded, "Bomber, I'll meet you at the docks? Lester?"

"I'm so there!" Lester grinned like a kid in a candy store.

[1] John Chatterton is a high profile Atlantic Wreck Divers.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter 6**

_A/N Please note that I accidentally uploaded chapter five instead of chapter four earlier this week. I have since rectified the issue so please go back to the previous chapter to read the new (formerly missing) addition!_

Steph arrived at the loading dock where the Coastguard had docked their boat at 0353 hours in a shiny white utility. All her gear, and there was no shortage of it, was loaded into the tray. The dock was a hive of activity. People were moving this way and that way organizing equipment; checking the boat, signing waivers and calling out requests. There was a boat just coming back in from patrol and another one heading out; the one she was to be on was being loaded with supplies and emergency equipment. She noted in surprise that they'd found a small recompression facility to bring with them. That wasn't exactly the most reassuring of signs.

Tank and Lester were standing on the dock a single black bag slung over each of their shoulders. They spotted Steph and her car and headed over, "Morning!" Lester beamed, clearly the morning person of the team.

Tank and Steph exchanged identical looks of pain and grunted some sort of response; which, of course, sent him into great fits of howling laughter. She curtly pointed them to the gear in the tray of my ute, "_That_, needs to be on the boat;" She instructed, grabbing a bag herself, "I'll show you where."

They each grabbed some of the tanks, swinging them over their shoulders – Steph muttered about over-muscled show-off males, although she could swing the odd tank herself - and followed her up the gangplank to the deck where one of the many deckhands immediately pointed them in the direction of Steph's 'station'. She motioned the boys after her and dropped her bag, "Tanks on the left, strapped down as tightly as you can. Bags are on the right," she explained, before heading off for the next load.

With two extra pairs of hands it took all of maybe ten minutes to finish unloading all the gear. When they finished, Steph gave Lester her keys, "can you park the car somewhere where I won't get a ticket while I go sign all the paperwork?"

"Are you sure the car's safe?" he asked her in a joking whisper; "you know your history with cars, bomber! You're still motor-insurance-legend!"

She groaned, pointing in the direction of the car, "GO!"

He left.

Tank and Steph headed into the office, where she was immediately accosted by Matt Jacob; the man who'd be running the expedition. Tank stood and walked a pace behind and to the left of her, keeping just near enough to be present but far enough to be unobtrusive.

"Steph, _thank god_! Here, sign this." He passed her a pile of papers, "have you loaded all your gear?" he glanced out to the ship, "yes? Good. Who's this?"

"Slow down, Matt," She said calmly, as she flipped through the papers; they were standard liability releases, all divers had signed plenty before. Basically she was responsible for her own actions, she accepted that in the instance of an emergency the coast guard would take all appropriate action etcetera etcetera etcetera. "Yes, my gear is all loaded. I have enough for four dives. It's all recently serviced and in good condition. This is Tank, and the other man with us is Lester. They're coming to watch how It's done."

Matt scowled, "I said _Jamie_ could come."

"Jamie's indisposed," her mouth twisted wryly; her brother was with his girlfriend, "Tank and Lester are coming." Her voice had taken on a no questions tone; these men were coming with, whatever anyone had to say on the matter.

With an ungraceful shrug, Matt agreed, "whatever, we really need you to do this," he grumbled, "but they'll have to share your cabin. We're short on space."

Steph nodded, clearly having expected as much, "who's the other diver?" This was the real cause for concern; if the other recovery diver was inexperienced; it could become a body recovery for more than just the two bodies they already had to find.

Matt scowled, "Don't rightly know," he shook his head, "admin found him late last night. He's an experienced technical diver," he explained, "but from what she was saying, he's never dived the _Doria_ before."

"You're shitting me, right?" her eyes opened wide in shock.

He shrugged, "They were all we could come up with for a Monday; some people have to work - apparently. Don't worry; we'll give them strict guidelines as to where they can dive."

Suddenly looking weary Steph rolled her shoulders and shrugged, "it's too early to have this conversation, Matt. I'm going to show Tank and Lester where we're bunking and settle in. Send someone to get us for the briefing, okay?"

He nodded and waved me off, collecting the papers I passed him.

Both Tank and Steph headed downstairs, collecting Lester as they passed him. Both of them looking around curiously.

"We're going to catch some z's," She said, "it's a six hour trip to the dive site, and then we'll be being briefed and pretty busy after that, so get as much as you can. There'll be a briefing and breakfast at about 1000, although there's always food in the galley if you get hungry."

"Sounds good, bomber!" Lester grinned, "so, where we bunking?"

She climbed down into the hold and then opened a cabin, "here." she scribbled her name on a piece of paper and shoving it on the door. There were four berths in each cabin, and she claimed a bottom one as soon as they entered. Tank took the other bottom one, and Lester the top berth above Steph.

They each dropped their various bags and climbed into their beds, setting up sleeping bags and arranging gear as they felt comfortably. Steph shut her eyes and prepared for a rough trip. Tank and Lester did the same, although after watching as Steph drifted into slumber, they exchanged a muted conversation about what they had seen in that short hour they'd already been on the boat.

Steph occasionally tossed and turned, and even woke right up with some of the bigger swells of the waves, but she forcibly clamped her eyes shut each time and tried to force herself to go back to sleep.

She would need her wits about her when she hit the water later that day.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter 6**

_A/N – I make no promises that I'm going to finish this story. Obviously it's been dead for five years, but I recently got re-inspired by both fanfiction and diving, so I've put together another chapter for you and I have several more planned out in my head._

_Obviously given the 5+ JE books that have come out since I started, this really is kind of an AU / AR text. I couldn't even tell you which book it spins from, so apologies if there are spoilers._

Steph's alarm buzzed at 0930, waking both her and the two men. She groaned and sat up, "Fuck," she mumbled as she stretched out her arms and legs. "I hate this trip." The six hours out to the _Andrea Doria_was hellish, it was always rough and it was only an ironclad gut and sheer force of will that saved her from seasickness each time.

"You alright, Bomber?" Lester asked.

"Sure," she said absently as she pulled some shoes on and grabbed a sweater and wind jacket. "I'm impressed that neither of you were seasick," she commented. "Most folks spend their first trip to the _Doria_ revisiting their food for the week before."

Tank laughed, "Navy man, remember."

She rolled her eye at that, "come on, breakfast awaits," she motioned them out the door and then led them up the stairs to the galley where people were sitting around sipping on tea's and coffee's and munching. Steph knew that most of these people were there to keep the boat moving, rather than having much to do with the diving operations.

"I've gotta talk to Matt," she said, "can you grab me a couple slices of toast and a bottle of water?"

"Sure thing, bomber," Lester nodded.

"Thanks."

After collecting three breakfasts, Lester and Tank sat down at an empty table and watched while Steph worked her way around the room.

She spoke to Matt for a few minutes, who then introduced her to another man, presumably her support team. He was maybe 50 years of age with an enormous beer gut and no muscle tone. Tank mumbled, "he looks like he'll have a fucking heart attack just getting into the water!"

Lester chuckled, but didn't disagree. The man looked like angina waiting to happen.

Apparently whatever the man was saying was not pleasing Steph as they could see the tension in her stance. She said something curt, walked him over to a table with a laminated diagram and pointed to a few things. The other man nodded several times, asked a few questions and then left the galley.

Steph made her way to the two men waiting for her, picking up a slice of toast as she sat down.

"Everything settled?" Tank asked.

"As much as it's going to be," she nodded, "he's not my ideal backup for today, he's got no real experience inside wrecks so he could be more dangerous than helpful," she explained at their quizzical expression. "He's going to do the administrative stuff, so he'll dive first, tie us in to the wreck and then hopefully locate the point of entry that the two victims used, so that I don't have to waste time when I get in."

"Anything we can do?" Lester asked, knowing that they were well outside their training as divers but hoping that they'd be able to assist.

"Actually," Steph nodded, "I'll probably get you guys to help me gear up once Kris hits the water. Once I put the tanks on my back, I lose a lot of mobility and in the rolling swells we have now, a couple of strong hands to help stabilize and load me up will be very useful."

She took a long drink of her water, and then eyed them both up, "I'm going to go help him gear up," she said, "if you're coming on deck, I recommend a raincoat."

Both Tank and Lester were astounded that it took the other diver nearly forty minutes to put his suit on properly, load up the twin tanks on his back and then attach the three deco bottles to his side. They watched in amusement as he waddled down the boat, big vulcanized rubber fins on his feet, one hand on the rails and the other holding Steph's as she walked him through what she wanted him to do. When they reached the edge of the boat, she stepped away and he took one final step off the edge and into the water. A quick OK to the boat, and he descended down the anchor line.

"Thank god," Steph sighed, "what a time waster." She moved towards her own gear and started barking out instructions. Tank had a momentary flashback to his drill sergeant from his time in the armed forces. "Lester can you bring that yellow box over," she pointed to a small, water-sealed briefcase, "Tank, I need that green deco bottle, the yellow one and that silver one please."

As she instructed both men, she put her backplate, wing and harness onto two large tanks joined by a metal manifold. She screwed regulators into both valves and cracked open the tanks. She tested each regulator, breathed from every mouthpiece and poured water over the whole thing to check for leaks. She then turned to the bottles Tank had brought over and attached regulators to each of them, lining them up in a column. She called Matt over as she opened the yellow briefcase and pressed some buttons.

"15/55," She called out the readings from the screen inside the box to Matt after running the gas from her twin tanks through a hose connected to the briefcase, before moving onto the first, yellow, stage bottle, "52," she said, "98," she said for the green one, "21," she announced for the silver one.

"Thanks Steph," Matt said, handing her a clipboard, which she signed, "you need anything else?"

She shook her head, "I'm planning forty minutes at the bottom," she said, "with 80 minutes decompression. I won't come up the line, but I'll send up a bag."

"Total run time?" he asked, "120?"

"Give me 130 before you call in the cavalry," she said with a shrug, "I'll send the bag up at 50 minutes, after that you'll know where I am. If it's not up by 60, it's won't be."

He nodded and walked off.

Steph immediately started taking clothes off and passing them to Lester until she was standing there in thermal leggings and long-sleeves, she opened up a duffel bag and grabbed a fleece jumpsuit which she pulled on and zipped up, followed by thick woolen hiking socks, before she pulled out a big space suit that looked about ten times too big for her.

"What the fuck is that?" Lester asked in amazement.

"It's a drysuit," Steph said with a laugh, "this way I'll be dry and warm underwater, only my face and hands will be exposed."

"What happened to a good old fashioned wetsuit?" he asked.

"It's eight degrees in that water, Santos," she said rolling her eyes, "if you want to use a wetsuit and go for a swim, be my guest. This keeps me dry, it's actually right up your alley," she laughed, "it's made of a type of Kevlar!"

Both men laughed at that.

She pulled up the suit tightening the straps, checking the wrist seals carefully, before she pulled it over her head and checked her neck seal. With a practiced motion, she leaned her left arm over her right shoulder and found the zip tag, pulling it smoothly over her shoulder across her chest and around her waist. She pulled out a thick neoprene hood, which she pulled on, followed by fingerless neoprene gloves.

Finally she sat down and slipped her shoulders into the harness attached to her tanks. With quick, confident motions she buckled everything in, moved mouthpieces around, cracked open her valves and checked everything was working as it was meant to. She then looked at Tank, "alright Tank, can you pass me those tanks one by one, the green one last?"

Within fifteen minutes she was fully geared up, checked off and ready to go. She walked up to the edge of the boat where there was an empty bench, which she leaned up against to take the weight off her back. Unlike the other man, her fins were in her hand and she would put them on as soon as he surfaced.

He appeared a bare ten minutes later, clipped his various tanks off to a line that one of the crew dropped over, removed the gear from his back and attached that and finally began climbing up the ladder.

"All your stops done?" Matt asked as soon as he was clear.

Kris nodded, "all done, plus an extra five for conservatism." He made his way over to Steph.

"Did you find their line?" she asked.

"Yeah, I tied the anchor line about a foot to the left of it," he said, "I didn't realize how strong the current got down there!"

Steph shrugged, "Yeah, I guess. Go grab a hot drink," she said, "I'm due back in two hours," she told him, "we'll discuss retrieval after I locate them."

He nodded and disappeared down the hatch and into the galley after checking his gear was all safely stowed.

Moments later, Steph had pulled her fins on, double checked everything one last time and flashed a cheeky wink at Tank and Lester, "see you in a bit!" she said as she walked off the edge of the boat, dropping the five meters into the ocean and quickly disappearing into the fathomless depths.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Deep Trouble – Chapter 7**

_A/N – wow, so I got really inspired last night, and I wrote three additional chapters, so I'll try and post one each day for a little while. This story may move quite slowly, in part because I am enjoying the diving side of it as much as I am the character development. I think we'll get across the technical hurdle shortly and the plot will move a bit faster after that. Thanks for your patience and for the reviews!_

When Steph's head finally broke the surface exactly 120 minutes after it descended, there was a general sigh of relief across the boat. Deep wreck penetration was dangerous stuff, and notwithstanding her qualifications and experience, Steph was taking a risk going in after two dead bodies.

She methodically clipped off her three deco tanks, then slipped out of her tanks and clipped those off and climbed up the ladder to the surface.

Matt was the first person she saw, "all stops done?" he asked.

"Yep," she nodded, bouncing on her feet, adrenalin still pouring through her from the long, challenging dive.

"You find 'em?" he asked hopefully.

She grimaced, "Yeah. They were exactly where I expected they'd be: on their way to the third class china stash, tangled up in their own line." She sighed, "I cut them loose and moved them to one of the rooms with a direct exit. We can pick the up on the dive this afternoon."

"Seriously?" he squeaked, then repeated himself in a more even voice, "seriously?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "they weren't that far inside, I found them about ten minutes into the dive. I'll show you where they were on the schematic, and where I moved them to." She glanced assessingly at Kris and then nodded decisively, "I'm pretty sure it'll only take one more dive."

"Great," he said, a pleased expression on his face, "go freshen up, get something to eat. When will you go in again?" he asked.

"I'll need three hours out of the water," she said, "so how about around 4-ish? "

He nodded, and left her to it.

Steph removed her drysuit and various undergarments getting back into the clothes she'd handed Lester earlier.

"It went well, then?" Lester asked.

"As well as it could have gone," she nodded, "we should be done late this evening, so we'll be home early tomorrow morning if everything goes according to plan." She headed towards the galley, and grabbed another bottle of water and a premade sandwich.

Lester and Tank followed after her, and she mentally giggled when she realized they were a little like puppies.

"So," she said, sitting down to face them, "why was Ranger so upset by the fact that I found the dog tags?"

"Bomber, what do you remember about what was going on before you left?" Tank asked.

She took a long drink from her water bottle, as she thought about it, "well I know he was really worried about Julie. He was spending a lot of time in Miami at that point," she shrugged, not meeting their eyes, "but I dunno, it's been a while."

"Steph," Lester asked the question that she'd avoided at dinner the night before, "why did you leave?"

"I don't really want to talk about that, Lester," she said meeting his eyes, and he found himself drawing back at the sheer pain apparent in them, "I'm happy with my life now, I don't want to go back there."

"But –"

"No." She said firmly, shutting him down, "I'm at work. My job is dangerous, I can't lose my focus. I'm not talking about it. And nobody answered my question from earlier."

Lester opened his mouth to press the issue, but Tank shook his head firmly. He knew a little about the nature of what her job entailed and the serious risks involved in being so deep and having work to do. He knew she was avoiding an issue, or hiding a secret, but she was correct that she needed to retain her focus.

"Mateo wore Ranger's dog tags," Tank said, allowing the conversation to return to her original question, "he was holding them for Ranger, and was supposed to give them to Julie if something happened to Ric."

Steph nodded, "and what, he lost them?"

"No," Tank shook his head, "he disappeared, around the same time you left." He tried to remember back to that time in his life, "actually, maybe a few weeks beforehand."

"Oh," Steph frowned, "I didn't know."

"Ranger didn't want to tell people, especially since Julie was being threatened." Lester explained, "he was worried it would give the impression that he couldn't keep his family safe."

Something indecipherable flashed across Steph's face at that comment, but she nodded, "that makes sense, I guess." She thought for a moment, "so did Mateo ever reappear?" she asked.

"Nope," Lester shook his head, "Ranger has us run searches for him every month in the hopes that something will turn up," he glanced at her, "but a bit like you, nothing ever came up until you found the dog tags."

"Poor Ranger," Steph said, "and nobody knows what happened to Mateo?"

"I think he's hoping that the wreck where you found the tags will give him some clues to start finding out what happened to him," Tank offered.

She nodded, "he's probably right." She yawned, "okay, I've got a couple of hours, I'm going to talk to Kris about the next dive and then catch some shut eye."

Tank and Lester were sitting on the back of the boat, near the ladder where Steph and Kris would eventually climb out. The duo had jumped in about half an hour earlier, and they were expecting a big orange surface marker buoy to appear any minute now. The pair weren't due back for another 90 minutes or so and the coastguard crew were monitoring their movements as best they could by watching the bubbles rising to the surface. It was unreliable, but it gave everyone some indication of where the divers were.

"I think she's hiding something, Tank." Lester said petulantly, "I think we missed something eight years ago."

There was no reply, but a glance at Tank's face proved that he was thinking along the same lines as Lester.

"I mean," Lester continued, "what are the odds that Steph would up and disappear without a trace at the same time as Mateo did _and _while Julie was being threatened?"

"The threats against Julie stopped six months after Steph left," Tank offered.

"Why did Ranger never look for Steph?" Lester wondered out loud.

"He did look."

"Not very well," Lester's voice was a little angry, "she was only an hour's drive away! How hard could he have possibly looked?"

"He looked for about a month, then he got some message and ordered all searches stopped." Tank's voice didn't invite further discussion.

"That's a bit odd, don't you think?" Lester commented, "Seems like there was something bigger going on."

Tank didn't say anything, standing up suddenly, "Man overboard!" He bellowed, "Man Overboard!" he kept his eyes fixed on the floundering body that had burst from the water merely seconds earlier.

Instantly everyone was on their feet and within minutes a RIB had been deployed and the diver retrieved. As the RIB was raised back to the deck, Tank and Lester watched as dive gear was cut from a man foaming at the mouth and vomiting.

"Get the O2 kit!" someone bellowed, another person handed over the green emergency oxygen kit and it was strapped on to the diver, who was convulsing furiously.

"Shit, radio for a heli-vac!" someone else called out, "he's bent bad!"

"FUCK!" Matt bellowed, "is he conscious? Someone watch for Stephanie's SMB, if it's not up in ten we're going to have to run the lost diver protocols."

"We're on it," Tank said shortly, and he and Lester took up position, watching the horizon for an orange marker buoy that they both hoped would appear, signaling that Stephanie was safe and in control.

"I think I've got bubbles at 11 o'clock," Lester said after a couple of minutes, breathing out a sigh, "Christ, I hope she's okay!"

Tank was silent, he fixed his eyes over where Lester was pointing and agreed, that those were a divers bubbles.

But several minutes passed and no buoy rose to the surface. "Something's wrong," he said, quietly, "something's badly wrong."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Deep Trouble 08**

Steph was methodical as she signaled through the hole in the wreck that she was going to start passing the bodies out to Kris. She gave him the universal okay sign, and he returned it. She had been monitoring him closely as they descended and swam to this point and he seemed calm enough, so she was reasonably comfortable he could handle it.

First she grabbed one body by the back of his tanks, using them to push him through the hole to Kris. He grabbed the top of the tanks and yanked the body out, his eyes on Steph's as he did so, trying to ignore the panicked, pained expression on the corpse's face.

Steph waited until the body was clear and then again gave him the okay signal, checking he was alright. She would prefer to do a third dive in the morning, if he wasn't going to be able to cope.

He returned the signal, his expression panicky, but seeming to be calm. Steph had seen that look on new divers during courses when they were stressed by all the new skills, but were still in control. She decided to keep going, and so she turned away and grabbed the next diver and again maneuvered him to the entrance and pushed. This time there was no tug from the other side.

With a frown, she pushed harder until finally the body was free-floating above the wreck, and Steph extricated herself. She looked around for her dive buddy, but was unable to see him, both bodies were resting, legs akimbo on the edge of the wreck, but there were no bubbles in sight to show her where Kris might be.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!" she growled into her regulator as she spun around a couple of times without seeing him.

She finally rolled onto her back and checked above, remembering that often your dive buddy was a little above and behind in the irritating blind spot, but she couldn't see him.

"FUCK!" she screamed in frustration, letting out a huge burst of bubbles. She looked at the two bodies and wondered whether she ought to just leave them, or if she should try to retrieve them single-handedly.

She ruthlessly shut down her emotions and methodically checked everything around her, she checked her own air supply, cracked each of her deco valves, checked that she was ahead of her deco schedule. Everything was okay, she was just short a dive buddy, and had two uncooperative bodies suffering from rigor.

"Think, Steph," she thought to herself, taking the moment to center herself. She finally grabbed each of the bodies by their tanks and started to kick her way up.

She kicked and kicked and wasn't rising.

So she pushed a burst of air into her BC, and felt herself rise a little bit, but the two bodies were dead weight. She checked their air supplies, hoping she could inflate their BC's but both were empty. She frowned, and checked her watch again.

Shit. She was right at the limit of her allowable bottom time.

She let the air back out of her BC, and looked at the two corpses in front of her. She needed a way to attach them so that she was only dealing with one free-floating body, and then she needed to get them neutrally buoyant so that they weren't weighing her down. She loosened their harnesses and used the crotch strap from one to connect to the harness of the other, and vice versa. Crotch straps have a stitched loop, so they wouldn't be separated until someone consciously did so.

Finally, she took a deep breath from her regulator, removed it from her mouth and breathed into the inflator hose of the first body. She put her regulator back into her mouth, took another breath and repeated it. Finally it started to move. She hoped that only controlling the equipment of one of them would be enough, having to handle two separate inflation systems plus her own would be dangerous.

As he started to rise, Steph allowed his buoyancy to pull her and the other body up slowly, and knew that she was dangerously over-staying her planned bottom time. Finally leaving the bottom, she checked her dive computer again, swearing as she realized she'd overstayed her bottom time by nearly ten minutes, adding an additional half an hour to her required decompression. Steph rested on the back of the first corpse's tanks, one hand on his inflator hose, releasing air every now and again as they rose so that she didn't rise too fast.

At the first stop, she forced herself to take long, slow deep breaths, counting backwards from ten each time she exhaled, until her heartbeat had slowed. She didn't replay events in her mind, just kept focused on her watch, counting the seconds until she could move to her next stop.

At 65ft she changed to the first gas mix, the yellow bottle with a mixture containing 50% Oxygen and 50% nitrogen. She had planned on half an hour on that mix before changing to a mixture containing nearly 100% Oxygen which would allow her to rid her body of accumulated nitrogen much faster. Unfortunately her gas mixtures had been tightly calculated, and she didn't have a huge margin to spare. There was a risk she would run out of the enriched oxygen mixes.

Once she was comfortably established on the mixture, she continued to watch her computer closely, moving up 10ft according to preplanned intervals. Finally she reached the 18ft stop, and prepared her next bottle. She spat out the regulator from her mouth and grabbed the next one, taking a deep breath and calming as she realized she was now close to the end. This was the last decompression stop, and it was a long one, but she would be okay. Her two hour planned run time was nearing its limit, but she still had an hour that she would need to be underwater as a result of the longer time at the bottom, and if she didn't send a signal to the surface, they would initiate emergency search procedures to try and locate her. She hoped that Kris had just been dragged off the wreck by the current and was doing his own free ascent.

She reached into the pocket on her drysuit and retrieved her marker buoy, the routine motions soothing her as she sent it rocketing to the surface. She knew that as long as someone on the boat saw it, they would be able to track her movements.

Nearly an hour later, her head finally broke the surface, to see Tank and Lester in a RIB a few metres away, and nearly wept in relief.

"You alright, Bomber?" Lester asked as he reached out for the marker buoy that she held out to him.

She nodded silently, using every ounce of strength in her arms to pull the bodies to the surface, where she handed motioned to him to grab one from the metal manifold bar between the two tanks on his back. She then signaled for him to wait as she undid the crotch straps. He and Tank hauled the body out, laying him on the other side of the RIB and turned back to her for the other body.

Finally relieved of her burden she flopped back on her back, and started unclipping the tanks from her body one at a time and passing them up to them. Finally she undid her harness holding the two tanks to her back and the boys easily hauled those out of the water.

She swam to the edge of the RIB and tried to kick herself up high enough that she could flop in, normally this was easy enough, but her muscles refused to cooperate this time and each time she tried she slipped back in the water. Finally as she kicked up, Tank grabbed the back of her suit and hauled her up and in.

"Thanks," she said, her voice soft.

"Alright, Little Girl?" he asked gruffly.

"I'm fine," she said, "has Kris surfaced?" she asked, suddenly remembering her buddy.

"Chopper picked him up 90 minutes ago," Lester informed her, "he surfaced maybe half an hour after you descended."

"Was he okay?" She asked hesitantly.

Both men shrugged, as they brought the RIB up to the edge of the tender vessel, and were slowly hauled up to the deck level. Steph scrambled onto the deck towards a wall and sat down, leaning her head back against it, letting someone else unload her dive gear.

Matt approached her and kneeled down beside her, handing her a bottle of water, "you alright, Steph?" he asked.

She shook her head, no.

"You do all your stops?" he asked, "drink up, you need to stay hydrated."

"Yeah, I did them all," she whispered, "Is he okay?" she asked, referring to Kris.

"He's in the chamber already," Matt said, "he broke the surface pretty hard, hon." He looked at her, "what can you tell me?"

Tank sat down on the ground beside her and pulled her into his shoulder, ignoring the dampness that soaked straight through his clothing from her wet suit.

Steph took a deep breath and started to relive the last couple of hours, "I passed the first body out to him," she said, "and he was fine, maybe a little panicky," she said, "but fine. I checked he was okay, and turned around to get the second one. I didn't check if he wa waiting, but just pushed the body out. He wasn't there to pull the body out, and so I pushed until it was free, and then swam out myself. The other body was just resting on the top of the wreck," she said, "but he wasn't anywhere in sight."

"When was this?"

"When I checked my watch a few minutes later, it was about 35 minute," She said, "I looked for a couple of minutes, but finally decided to start for the surface."

"Why didn't you leave the two bodies behind?" Matt asked.

"Once they were free of the wreck, they had to come up," she said, "the current was pretty strong, they would have ended up miles away if I hadn't."

He nodded, accepting that answer, "so what happened?"

"They were both entirely out of air," she said, "I had to orally inflate on of their BCD's," she explained, "and then I used that to get us to the first stop. I used that BC to control my ascent, and just left mine as a backup." She met his gaze, "on its own, mine didn't have enough lift capacity to get all three of us to the surface."

Tank's arm tightened around her, knowing how dangerous that was.

"So they did all the stops you did?" Matt pressed.

"Yeah, you can download the profile from my dive computer," Steph said, removing a watch from her wrist and handing it over.

"You could have shot them to the surface," he said, as he took the watch, "nobody would have minded."

Often, when bodies are retrieved from great depths, the recovery diver just removes their weightbelt and lets them rocket to the surface at their own pace. Unfortunately this makes autopsies particularly difficult because any air left in the corpse would expand by 100% each time the depth was halved, and often blood vessels would burst, which meant that cause of depth was harder, if not impossible, to establish.

Steph didn't respond, and Matt walked away to deal with the two bodies which were being photographed before they were bagged and tagged.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Deep Trouble – Chapter 10**

Steph finally gathered herself enough to get out of her drysuit and into some warm dry clothes. She didn't speak as she then started turning off her tanks, releasing the pressure and unscrewing regulators, allowing the familiar process of pulling her equipment apart to bring a semblance of peace to her.

Tank and Lester both stood to the side, watching as she quickly and quietly packed up all the gear into a series of soft bags and plastic tubs. The boat was already on its way back to Brielle and it was pitch black, with the exception of the lights on the boat.

"Steph," Matt interrupted her motions, placing a hand on her shoulder, "dinner's ready," he said, nodding quietly to the two men who quietly stood guard over her.

"Thanks, Matt," she said quietly, her face and voice dull and expressionless, "I'll be there in a sec."

When all her gear was strapped away, she exhaled loudly and turned to Tank and Lester, "you hungry?" she asked, "the dinner on this boat's usually pretty good."

"I could eat," Lester joked lightly, trying to keep it light-hearted. Obviously he had realized that she was a bit fragile at that moment. Tank just nodded silently.

"This way then," she said, allowing a glimmer of affection to flicker across her face as she returned to the Galley.

A few people glanced up as she walked in, but everyone seemed to be giving her a wide berth, for which she was grateful. She really didn't want to have to discuss anything. She served up a light dinner, and grabbed another bottle of water which she downed quickly.

"I never thought I'd see the day where you ate so healthily," Tank commented, figuring that was a safe enough topic for the evening.

Steph allowed her mind to be dragged to mundane things, and grimaced as she thought of her old eating habits, "neither did I," she agreed, "but my overall fitness is pretty important, given what I do. The more my arteries clog, the easier it would be for me to get bent," she said matter-of-factly, "plus Jamie taught me to cook a few healthy, tasty meals."

Lester shivered as he remembered the convulsions and frothing that he had watched Kris suffer after he surfaced. If that was the bends, then he'd much prefer to get shot, thank you very much.

"You can cook?" Tank continued the conversation, moving it away from diving, hoping to allow her a little escape.

"Yeah, it surprised me too!" She chuckled lightly, "I make a mean stirfry, not to mention some of my soups."

"Will you cook for us sometime, Bomber?" Lester asked, munching on a carrot.

"Sure," she agreed, "I guess you guys will be in the area a bit more often, if you're investigating that yacht."

"Probably," Tank nodded.

"Well it'll be nice to have some familiar faces around," she said softly, leaning back into the vinyl chair and closing her eyes, allowing the rolling of the boat rock her to sleep.

Matt approached the three of them a few moments later, "take her downstairs," he said quietly to the two men, "she can get some real rest. Jamie will be waiting at the docks to drive her home."

Immediately after he walked away, Tank rose and scooped her up into his arms. He was a little surprised that she snuggled into his shoulder, but let it slide as he quickly took the steps downstairs. It was a good thing he'd spent so long in the navy, because if he hadn't he would probably have tripped or fallen given the unpredictable motions of the boat. Lester followed behind the pair, and shut the door after them as Tank lay her down on the rack.

"Thanks Tank," she whispered, rolling over to face the wall, her eyes staying shut.

"Anytime, little girl." he whispered back, before taking his own rack, surprised at how exhausted he was. Lester had slipped into the same bed as before, and the three of them dozed off to the roll of the waves and the groan of the engines, only waking occasionally to whimpers from Steph as she tossed fitfully through the six hour journey.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter 11**

Steph made it to work a little before lunch the next day. Technically her presence wasn't necessary as they had a couple of college students who handled the shop front while she and Jamie taught courses and organized the actual diving operations, but she liked to check in every now and again. Not to mention the routine of the work was good for keeping her calm.

The door jangled as she pushed it open, and the blonde woman who was manning the store looked up, a smile on her face to greet a customer.

"Oh, morning Steph!" she beamed, "I wasn't expecting you today."

"Hi Sally," Steph nodded, "just came in to do a stocktake."

Sally frowned slightly, "thought you did stocktake the other week?" she commented.

Steph raised an eyebrow, "I'm doing it again," was all she said, as she disappeared into the storeroom at the back. She liked the girls who ran the store, but she hated getting the impression she wasn't welcome in her own shop.

A little while after she had disappeared into the back, the door jangled again. Steph barely heard it, being so engrossed in counting the different regulators, stab jackets and other bits and pieces surrounding her.

It wasn't until she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, that she realized she wasn't alone. She turned to the door, "Ranger," she said, neutrally, "I wasn't expecting to see you. I've already sent the information you wanted to your office."

"I came to see you," he said, his dark eyes scanning her body, noting the weight she'd lost since he'd last held her eight years ago, seeing the strong, muscular arms from lifting heavy equipment, the sun-highlighted brown hair that frizzed more than it used to as a result of the constant salt immersion . But it was her face that truly caught his gaze, the additional lines around her mouth and eyes, the slightly weathered look of her skin after years of wind, sun and salt blasting, these were all changes he saw. The sadness in her eyes, he wondered whether that was a permanent fixture, or only a result of the work she'd done yesterday. "I've missed you," his spoke almost unwillingly.

Steph stiffened at his words, "it was good to see you and the guys again the other night," she redirected, trying not to encourage the conversation too much.

"Tank said you did well yesterday," Ranger offered, "said it was a tough job."

"It was," Steph agreed, her voice cracking slightly as she continued, "but unfortunately it happens more than you'd think." _Like two or three times a year_, she thought to herself bitterly.

"How did you get into diving?" Steph was surprised to hear a faint tone of curiosity lining Ranger's voice, "I never really had you pegged as an outdoors kind of girl."

This got an unwilling chuckle from Steph as she started to put away the boxes of equipment she'd been checking and counting, "I'm not," she agreed, "but when I finally met Jamie, he said it would be a quick and easy way for us to learn about each other." She shrugged, "that first breath underwater, I knew I was going to do this forever." She made her way to the door and back to the main shop-front, where Sally was quietly explaining different equipment to a legitimate customer.

"When was that?" Ranger asked, following her out.

"Maybe five or six years ago?"

He nodded.

Steph poured herself a coffee from the little thermos near the door and flopped down into the battered couch, "So," she said, leaning back and shutting her eyes, "does this little catch-up have a purpose?"

"Actually, yes," he sounded hesitant, so she opened her eyes and looked at him, arching a brow. "the team in Maine said they'd fly down if you guys couldn't do the job, but they aren't free for at least a month."

Steph rolled that thought over in her head, it was sort of a backhanded compliment she decided, "so you want to book the team?" she asked, keeping her tone professional.

"Maybe," he nodded, "I wanted to see if you would actually do it, first."

That surprised Steph, and she got a little defensive, "what do you mean?" she asked, "of course we will, I offered before, didn't I?"

"You did," he acknowledged, "but it would mean working closely with me and my team, maybe for weeks," he met her gaze steadily, waiting for her mind to put the pieces together.

Steph did, and didn't like the picture they were giving her, "you mean can _I _work with _you_?" she asked, a little bitterly, "yes, Ranger, I can work with you. It will be fine." Silently thinking to herself, maybe the better question is _why_ would I put myself through it?

He nodded as if that closed the issue, which she supposed it did.

"Our day rate is $5000 plus costs," she said, her tone all business, "given the depths of this wreck, each dive can be quite expensive so we take a five day retainer upfront to cover overheads."

He nodded, accepting the rate.

She glanced at a calendar, "when do you want to start? I've got a few weekend courses that I'm in the middle of, which will keep me busy weekends, plus half of the team are currently out of the country on a vacation, so it'll take me some time to get them back," she could see his expression darkening, and finished her thought "but Jamie and I can start as soon as you're ready and work around that as much as possible."

Ranger's business face had slid down as she started speaking, "The sooner the better," he said, "send your standard contract through and I'll get your retainer organized. I'd like to have a meeting with the full team tonight, if possible," he said, "can you and Jamie come to RangeMan for a meeting this evening?"

"I'll be there," she said, "we generally only send one representative to client meetings as there's so much prep work that has to be done," she said, "Jamie will make sure our equipment is prepped and ready." She glanced at Ranger, "I'm assuming you'll want us in the water as soon as possible?"

He nodded.

"Then it's best if it's just me at the meeting," she said, mentally steeling herself for what she was going to do, "that way we can be in the water as soon as tomorrow."

"Thanks, Stephanie," he said, his blank face on.

She nodded, then had a thought that made her freeze, "Ranger," she said, an edge of panic in her voice, "I haven't been back toTrentonsince-" she broke off, and looked away from his face. Finally she continued, subdued, "I don't want my family to know I'm there-"

"Babe." Pain lanced through her at the oh, so familiar use of his nickname for her.

"No, I'm serious, Ranger," she said, her voice rising just slightly in genuine worry. "They can't know. It's not fair!"

"Drive down with me this afternoon," he offered, finally and perhaps unwillingly, "the tinted windows will stop anyone seeing you, and you can borrow a RangeMan vehicle as needed for the duration of the investigation."

He watched as relief, worry and finally fear crossed her face before she seemed to steel herself, pulling her shoulders up, and said, "okay then, thank you."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter 12**

The RangeMan building hadn't changed much in eight years, Steph decided as she followed Ranger into the elevator, clasping a black A4 leather portfolio in one hand.

"You still know your way around?" Ranger asked as the elevator rose to the fifth floor, where she knew they had conference rooms, "nothing has changed."

She nodded soundlessly.

The ride down hadn't been awkward, per se, a bit like she considered her gyno appointments… a necessary evil.

Ranger had been in his zone, and for once she hadn't been even remotely interested in pressing a conversation. She'd kept her eyes fixed in the distance, mulling over how they came to be at this point.

Before she'd left, she and Ranger had been something. She couldn't really define it better than that. They'd been more than friends, more than lovers, but less than partners and they weren't in a relationship. Possibly the easiest way to describe it was to use the words that he had given her, and say that there was no price for anything between them. They had silently granted the other anything they needed that was in their power to give.

And then it had all gone to heck in a handbasket, as her grandmother liked to say, and Steph had walked away from her life, with Ranger's approval and support. She wondered now, for a moment, whether it had been as necessary as she'd allowed herself to believe at the time. Whether the threat hadn't just been a good excuse for both of them to keep their fear of commitment assuaged. Sitting there, next to him, smelling that delicious Bvlgari once again, faced with the prospect of working with him for an extended period she was no longer so certain.

The elevator door opened on five, and Steph stepped out, following Ranger's indication into the large conference room. As she entered the room, she froze and slammed down her own version of the blank face, shocked to see so many familiar faces. Bobby, Tank and Lester were sitting at the head of the large conference table, and Ranger sidled around her to take one of the seats with them, motioning her to the one to his left hand side.

As she slowly walked in and took her seat, she scanned the room and fought back a lump in her throat at the sight of Cal, his flaming skull tattoo only slightly faded, and Hal who still had a baby face, despite the additional eight years, Ram had a nasty looking gash across his forehead and she had to restrain herself from wanting to check him over, Manny was arm wrestling with Snake. It was like coming home, to Steph, and she felt her heart break all over again at the sight of all the men who had meant so much to her.

"Bomber, glad to have you back on the team!" Lester leaned across Ranger and gave her a knuckle bump which knocked her out of her melancholy.

"It's nice to be back," she admitted honestly, but her blank face remained. These men all had ESP, and she didn't need to give anything away for free.

"Hey," Lester continued, "have you heard how the other guy is doing?" he asked, "the one they evacuated?"

Steph blinked and tried to marshall her thoughts, "you mean Kris?" she asked, an edge to her voice, she had _very_ mixed feelings about the man, "he's on a program of four dives in the recompression facility," she said, "he's halfway through and responding well, apparently, but he might never walk again."

Honestly, she felt very sorry for the man, he'd been trying to be a good Samaritan and help retrieve the bodies, but as far as she could gather, he'd had a panic attack at the realization that he was holding another divers corpse, and so he had dropped it and swum straight to the surface. That instinctive dash for the surface was something that a good technical diver was trained out of very early on, no matter what problem they were facing. Admittedly, they rarely provided training in body recovery. The fact that he was alive when he made it to the chamber was fortunate, and suggested that although he would be in a lot of pain and was unlikely to walk again, let alone dive, the man would recover.

Lester winced at that, "wow, I didn't realize it got that serious."

"He's lucky he's not vegetative," Steph said honestly, "or dead," she said as an afterthought.

Ranger chose that moment to call the room to attention, "Thank you all for coming in at such short notice," he said, "as some of you know, I have been running a private case file in relation to the disappearance of my brother Mateo Manoso. Slightly over eight years ago, he disappeared without a trace. Every month the standard searches are run, and have turned up nothing. Every six months, the depth searches are run and again turn up nothing." He scanned the room, not an ounce of emotion seeming through, "until three days ago, we had nothing. However, we were contacted by Ms. Plum who had found my dog tags and has provided us with our first significant trace since his disappearance." He looked around the room, "it is a cold clue, the tags were found in 65m of water on a wreck that is believed to have been underwater for around five years, but it gives us somewhere to start. As of now you are all reassigned full-time to this investigation." He glanced around, "any questions?"

"Is Steph back on the team?" Cal asked, flashing her a covert grin, which she returned.

Ranger nodded, "I have hired Stephanie's diving team to assist us with the in-water operations of this investigation." He glanced around the room as if expecting objections. There weren't any, although some people were looking quizzically at Steph as if wondering what 'team' she was part of.

"So what's the plan, boss?" Lester prompted.

That seemed to spur him on and he handed files out to everyone, giving Steph a pile of four, "these folders contain a record of all the information we have about Mateo, and the results of all the searches we've done," he said, "Steph will brief you on her find shortly. Hal, I want you to go over everything with a fine toothpick and make sure we haven't missed anything, get Silvio to help from Miami if you need to.

"Everyone else is going to be canvassing Mateo's colleagues, friends and partners to try and find clues as to his movements in the months before he left," Ranger looked around, "I'm sending a team of four to Miami on the first flight tomorrow to handle all people based there. Bobby will head it up, Cal, Ram and Manny, you're with him." He looked around, "I want to know _anything_ that will give us some insight into why he might have disappeared, whether he went voluntarily, or was forced."

There were serious nods all around, then someone piped up, "so what about this wreck?"

"Steph, you want to handle this?" Ranger handed the discussion over.

"Sure," Steph rose, scanning the room, before speaking confidently, "three days ago, I was diving on some GPS marks we'd been given by a local fisherman. Usually they don't turn up anything worth seeing, but occasionally you get something cool. In this case, it was a luxury yacht resting upright in about 65m of water. With four people diving on it, none of us were able to locate anything to identify the wreck. In fact the only thing anybody did find was the dog tags.

"I don't know if you've run them for prints," Steph said, "but I retrieved them and washed them down in fresh water, and they had some growth on them so I'd be surprised if you got even a partial. Given the little I know about the investigation thus far, my suggestion is that we spend some time trying to identify the yacht, its owner and when and how it sank. Half my team will be ready to hit the water tomorrow, the other half will be here within 72 hours so we'll have them in the water then if we haven't solved it."

"How long do you think it will take?" Bobby asked.

"To identify the yacht?" Steph queried, and continued after he nodded, "I don't know. Given the depth of the site, we're limited to a maximum of two dives each day, with about half an hour active searching time," she paused, "it could take a couple of days, maybe even weeks."

Ranger seemed to visibly deflate as she said that, and Steph sympathized, but she no longer believed in false optimism.

"There are some really obvious ways of identifying a wreck," she said, "and we can narrow our focus based on the age of the wreck, the type of boat and so on, but there's a risk with diving that the weather doesn't co-operate, or some critical indicator is no longer there." She sighed, "hopefully we'll pull useful information up quickly, but luxury yachts aren't all that uncommon these days.

"Jamie is already searching the Marine Vessel system to find out which many vessels were deregistered over the period from the day your brother disappeared to about three years ago," she paused, "we cut the search at that point on the basis that it's been in the water for at least five years, but if you suspect foul play there's a fair chance that the vessel is in fact still registered."

"We'll address that if we have no other choices," Ranger said decisively, "for now, focus on identifying the yacht and anything that would give you clues about how it sank."

Steph nodded, acknowledging the instruction, "we'll be ready to go out at first light tomorrow."

"Either Tank or I will be on the boat," he said, "You'll need to log planned movements with our control room."

"Boss," Ram piped up, "I hate to be the one to say this but we need to run security checks on Steph and her team before they get started."

"You're right," Ranger nodded, "get them done, tonight." He glanced at Stephanie, "is there anything we need to know about?"


End file.
